


Ever in Dreams

by lilybet



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF!Gwaine, Friendship, Magic, Memory Loss, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybet/pseuds/lilybet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A curse causes Merlin to make the ultimate sacrifice, and now no one in Camelot can remember him. But when Arthur is saved from a magical monster he starts dreaming about a strange lanky boy, and can't get him out of his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The young warlock shook as the spell took hold, a panoply of dancing lights coalescing around him. In a burst of bright white they vanished, and Merlin fell gracelessly to the sodden earth. Across the sward the Priestess smiled without mirth and turned away. She had extracted her price; the curse was broken.

Merlin woke to soft falling rain and an almighty ache in his head. He levered himself off the ground and looked around, but the Priestess had vanished. He could only hope his sacrifice was worth it. Turning, he ran back through the old ruins and clambered into the waiting boat. As Merlin sat, impatiently waiting for the magic-born vessel to make its steady way, he thought.

He thought about the curse that had laid waste to Camelot's young men; turning brave knights into bedridden weaklings. The curse that had threatened the great city's safety, opening the way for Morgana to attack without warning. And had finally brought low that strongest of Camelot's men: Arthur Pendragon. It was seeing him pale and exhausted from this unidentifiable malaise that had spurred Merlin on. When every magical means at his disposal had been tried, the young warlock had turned to the books and finally the Isle of the Blessed. It was here at last that he had found his answer.

But the price for breaking the curse was high. The Priestess, cloaked in mystery and anger, had demanded his life in exchange for all the lives of the men of Camelot. For only a second had he hesitated; for what use was he in the course of Albion if there was no Arthur to be king. Yet he lived, and as the boat neared the shore he reviewed her last words to him: 'life is memory and memory is life'. There, then, he would find his answers.

His horse was waiting patiently on the bank of the lake, exploring the leaves within reach. Merlin sprang from the boat and was shortly racing back to Camelot and his king. As he rode he passed through outlying villages and hamlets, and was pleased to see young men both in the fields and preparing to hunt again. He could only hope that the trend continued all the way home.

The lower town was bustling, with cries of joy intermingling with the shouts of the marketplace. Everywhere people were clapping each other on the back, shaking hands, and expressing their grateful thanks to what ever force had lifted the curse. Merlin grinned widely, knowing that while he would never receive direct thanks he had made this come to pass. For a moment the joy he felt blotted out his worries.

"Halt. What is your business in the castle?" said Cedram, guard and dice-fiend, crossing his pike with that of his fellow entrance-keeper to bar Merlin's way.

"You mean other than pretty much everything?" Merlin snorted, thinking of the long and growing longer list that Arthur no doubt had waiting for him.

"No one enters the castle without permission from the king!" said the other guardsman enthusiastically, his helmet falling over his eyes as he looked up at the young man on horseback.

"Well that explains all the intruders," Merlin joked.

"Hey!" cried Mr Helmet.

"Now then, young man, just tell us your business or be on your way. There's no need for that," Cedram said in a less excitable tone than his partner.

Merlin's smile fell a little, and he said, "It's me, Merlin. The king's manservant."

"That's enough of that now. You've had your joke. I suggest you be on your way." Cedram's tone stiffened, clearly not impressed by Merlin's declaration.

"Just let me in, would you?" Merlin sighed.

"Not unless you want to visit the cells," Mr Helmet said gleefully.

"Is there a problem here?"

Merlin twisted round to see Elyan walk up, hand on his sword pommel. He breathed a sigh of relief; whatever silly games the guardsmen were playing Elyan would sort them out. "Elyan," he greeted, "Mind telling these guards who I am so I can get back to my job?"

Elyan looked up at Merlin with a slight frown growing between his eyes and said with all honesty, "I'm sorry but I don't think we've met."

"What? Elyan, it's me: Merlin."

"It's Sir Elyan, friend, and I don't know any Merlin's. Perhaps you should be about your business," the knight said, giving a look to the guards. Merlin knew that look, he'd been on the receiving end of that look. It was one that said: I'll hold them off, you go for help. He'd never followed it, but he wasn't a guard.

"You don't remember me?" he asked quietly, searching his friend's eyes for any sign of recognition.

"If you wish to be presented to the king, he will be receiving petitioners in three days," Elyan said, blankness oozing from every pore.

And suddenly Merlin knew what the Priestess had done. He'd bargained his life for Arthur's and she had taken it. Not the one that made his heart beat and breath sing, but the one made up of every memory of him. Without everyone's memories of him he had no life in Camelot. Somehow the Priestess had removed him from the collective minds of Camelot, and in doing so had killed him.

Beneath him his horse sensed Merlin's turmoil and shifted. He laid a hand on its neck and smiled weakly at the waiting knight. "Sorry, my mistake," he said and turned away. As he let the horse take a slow walk out of the city he reflected that at least an Arthur with no memory of him was better than a dead Arthur.

 

Merlin curled up in his blanket within the horse-exchanged tent and tried not to think. It had been months since he had ridden away from Camelot, too afraid to see a blank look on Arthur's face when he looked at him. Still, he had been reluctant to go too far from the young king, so Merlin had sold the horse, bought a tent and supplies, and was now camping out in the forest. From time to time he would take the day's walk to stand and stare at the castle he'd called home, wondering if anyone was missing him at all.

He caught news from passing travelers, drawn by his fire. The king was fine, growing in confidence and experience. The knights of Camelot were a well-respected force, with stories about their brave deeds abounding as much as those of Arthur. Slowly Merlin began to wonder if, for all his magic and saving of Arthur's life, he was really important, needed, at all. He seemed to be doing fine without him, without even the memory of him.

And so, living by himself with nothing but his own thoughts, Merlin began to fade. He no longer cared for his appearance, his already meager appetite shrank, and his thoughts became as bleak as midwinter. It seemed that though Arthur could live without Merlin, Merlin could not live without Arthur.

*

Over the brow of the hill, under waving banners and golden sunlight, Gwaine staggered out of an inn. He shouldn't really have been in there in the first place, what with being an on-duty knight of Camelot, but he really didn't feel like he belonged to that chivalrous order. Oblivious to his surroundings he made his way over to the river and half purposely threw himself in. When he emerged, soaking wet and growling like a bear, he felt much better. Enough, in fact, to try to discover where his horse had gone. Or, failing that, where Camelot was.

*

Arthur paced across the council chamber. He had become very good at it. Ever since he had recovered from that mysterious malady that had struck the young men of Camelot his knights had noticed him growing more irritable and more inclined to pace. Most of them didn't bother following him with their eyes anymore, knowing that he'd hove into view again sooner or later.

Today he was pacing because of King Lot, or rather because of a band of brigands who had been broaching Camelot's borders with Lot's kingdom. Arthur had no way of knowing whether the brigands were acting with or without the knowledge of their king, but it was fast reaching the point where it didn't matter.

'How many does that make now?' he barked to the assembled knights, counsellors, and random nobles.

'Six sire,' said Sir Leon.

'And no word from King Lot?'

'None, my lord,' Agravaine replied.

Arthur looked around for a moment, a tiny frown tugging between his brows, then declared that the knights would ride out on the morrow. The people of Camelot must be safe or his rule would be seen to be weak. As the knights hurried to their horses and he slumped into the throne his uncle came up beside him.

'Sire, do you not think you should go with them? I mean, you are Camelot's greatest fighter.'

'I am also its king,' Arthur said, 'My father never-'

'Your father had you to rely on, my lord,' Agravaine interrupted, placing a hand on the back of his chair. 'Who do you have? Hastily made knights who care more for glory or drink that they do for Camelot.'

'There's Leon,' Arthur defended, a touch weakly. He knew that his action in making a group of commoners knights was seen by many, including his late father, as a weak move. But he had needed men to fight against Morgana, and making them knights had seemed the surest way of ensuring their loyalty.

'Sir Leon is a good knight, but you must make sure his star does not rise above you own. After all you are a young king, making a name for yourself now is most important,' Agravaine persuaded.

'Perhaps you are right,' Arthur sighed. 'I will go with them. I'm glad you're here, uncle.'

'Sire.' Agravaine bowed as his nephew left the room. Only then did he allow himself a smile; Morgana would be pleased.

*

Merlin woke sharply, the sun on his face. He had been dreaming - again. It seemed as though not saving Arthur's life on a daily basis had made his magic turn inwards. Now he dreamt, and what he dreamt invariably came to pass. In a way he had gained a new appreciation for the way Morgana must have felt back when no one was listening to her nightmares. Sometimes the dreams were insignificant, but others were more insistent, playing in his head again and again. This one was worse than most, and as he pulled himself off the ground Merlin knew he had to answer it.

It was a long journey, made worse by his weak state and the rough ground, but Merlin persevered. He had to, because he couldn't let it happen, he couldn't let her win. When Merlin reached the glade beside the cliff face he was exhausted. Wary of lighting a fire and being found he ate his rations cold and curled up in a hollow oak. Soon it would be dark and she would arrive.

He woke to firelight and the sound of the old tongue. Quietly he crept from his hiding place, dark cloak held tightly to keep in what little warmth he had as well as to hid his presence. In the centre of the clearing Morgana had laid out a network of candles. Merlin watched, listening carefully to her words as she incanted. The candles flared twice their height: once, twice, and a third time. Then she smiled and stepped out of the circle. Merlin hissed under his breath as Agravaine emerged from near the cliff face. They spoke just outside his hearing range, then Morgana cleared away the candles along with any sign she'd been there and vanished into the forest.

When he was sure they were gone and not coming back Merlin hastened across the moonlit sward, bending down to examine what few marks were left. Muttering a few words in the old tongue the meaning of the witch's spell became clear. Annoyingly he wouldn't be able to clear it until its target - Arthur - was within its grasp. He would have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter** **Two** **  
**

 

The jingling of horse tack and murmur of men woke him the second time. They were still some distance off but Merlin hurried, almost tripping several times, to the same handy tree he'd hidden behind before. As the party emerged into the clearing Merlin's breath froze in his throat. There, riding his familiar brown horse, was Arthur. Without thinking, Merlin's eyes flared gold and time slowed to a crawl.

 

At first glance Arthur looked well; his armour polished, his cloak unstained. He was riding well, and looked every inch the king he was. But Merlin's eye caught on a problem immediately: there was no one riding beside him. The knights were behind him in ordered rows, little laughter in their faces. There was no chatter, no banter the way Merlin remembered, only warnings about fallen branches and slipping straps. It was as if someone had sucked the heart out of the company.

 

And Arthur; Merlin looked, both reluctant and far too eager, he seemed angry, no, fraught. He was wearing the look which used to mean Merlin was getting a boot thrown at his head. Of course, the boot was usually followed by a release of frustration and a half-plea for advice. Who was doing that for him now? Where was his new manservant? Merlin hoped he hadn't got a bootlicker, or worse, a Cedric.

 

Time began moving at its normal pace, and the horses trotted on. One eye on the spell, Merlin frantically searched down the line. Where was he? Where was his replacement? A flash of light drew his attention back to where it should have been, and he held up a hasty hand.

 

 

Arthur's horse reared under him, spooked by the sudden light. Drawing his sword the king searched around him, ordering his knights to spread out. The cause soon became clear, as a rumbling growl rose from the throat of a creature Arthur could only describe as hideous. Somewhere in the back of his mind he uttered a small sigh: a magically created monster bent on killing him, how annoyingly familiar.

 

Yelling a heroic sound he charged, sword whistling through the air. The monster leapt, showing itself to be remarkably agile, and knocked Arthur clean off his horse. Around him the knights sprang into action, trying to drive the monster off without hurting their king. Twisting round, Arthur jabbed his blade at the monster, making it roar. It lashed out with a taloned paw, raking his chain mail as he sliced down. The sword caught the monster's spiny forearm and a thick green liquid oozed out of the wound.

 

The monster bellowed again and leapt again, its talons reaching for Arthur. He stumbled back, his sword held defensively, but the monster was too strong. It pinned him to the ground, talons biting into his shoulders, sword now totally useless. Ignoring the cuts from the knights the monster bent its thick neck and growled in Arthur's face, spittle dripping from its many-toothed jaws.

 

Totally certain he was about to have his head ripped from his shoulders Arthur stared into the face of death. Suddenly, the monster stopped mid-growl, head twisting to look out into the forest, a shudder running the length of its contorted body. Arthur followed its gaze and saw, thought he saw, a young man with dark hair holding out his hand. The monster growled again and then, with a wistful glance at Arthur, charged off into the forest.

 

'Sire!' cried Leon and half a dozen other knights.

 

'I'm alright,' he said, getting up with the aid of his sword, eyes never leaving the spot where the monster had vanished. 'I'm fine.'

*

 

Merlin stumbled and reached out to balance himself, forcing his hand away from his midriff to press against the rippled bark of a handy tree. The monster had not gone down easily, even with magic on his side. Calling it away from its rightful prey had in fact been the easy bit. Merlin closed his eyes, recollection burning through, making it feel like he was there again.

 

Looking out of the forest Merlin's eyes had widened as he saw the hideous spiny creature hurtling towards him; his elation turning rapidly to terror as he stumbled and ran. The thing was ridiculously fast, even in the close confines of the forest, and Merlin was soon forced to turn back. Speaking quickly, he cast every disabling spell he could think of at the monster. Some affected it, distracting its attention for a time, but most just slid right off. For a moment he panicked, throwing it away from him instinctively. But as it shook itself off it only seemed to be angrier. Merlin blanched.

 

Casting a taloned appendage at him, the monster caught Merlin low on the chest, carving deep wounds and sending him flying. Groaning, Merlin turned his face out of the dead leaves and mud, only to come face to tooth-filled face with the monster. It opened its mouth, ready to devour him, and Merlin reacted.

 

'Forbyrnan!' he gasped.

 

A fireball rose into being between them, the monster trying to cross its eyes to see what new sorcery this was. Then the fireball leapt and hurtled inside the monster's gaping mouth, burning its way straight to its heart. The monster whimpered, staggered, and collapsed a few yards from where Merlin lay, its skin blackening as the fire burst from its body.

 

Merlin remembered levering himself up then and, with a glance for the creature that should never had come into being in the first place, setting off back through the forest. He was exhausted; he just needed to get back to his camp, or so he told himself. Pushing off from the handy tree he trudged on, barely lifting his head. Behind him, mottling the bark, he left behind a fresh bloody handprint.

 

Arthur, King of Camelot, could not sleep. He'd been tossing and turning all night. He and the knights had quickly found the marauders disturbing the outlying villages, dispatched them, and from the few survivors established that they had nothing to do with King Lot. They had then ridden back to Camelot, where he had eaten well, sat in front of his stoked fire, and felt like, inexplicably, something was missing. He'd gone to bed then, determined that a good night's sleep would help him regain his equilibrium. Instead he was moving covers about, punching his pillow, and staring up at the canopy thinking.

 

For months he'd felt like this; he'd looked around expecting to see someone, raised his head thinking he'd heard someone say something, checked and double checked what he had to do just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Because that was it in a nutshell, he felt like there was something missing from his life.

 

Over time he'd started to put it down to missing his father, a natural reaction, one he was expected to have. Uther had been a huge part of his life for a very long time: father, king, antagonist, and confident. That sort of loss wouldn't go away overnight. But in his heart he knew that wasn't it, except what else could it be?

Desperately Arthur punched his abused pillow once more and tried to put all thoughts from his mind. He was just imagining things, that was all. Slowly, by counting the endless knights of Camelot, the king drifted off to sleep.

*

 

Arthur laughed at the servant running across the training ground, the target held between them. He hefted a fifth knife in his hand then let it fly. It went wide of the bullseye but he still laughed again as the man tripped and the target rolled away from him. Arthur had turned to the other nobles' sons when a voice rang out:

 

'Hey. Come on. That's enough.'

 

Arthur looked around and saw a slightly scruffy youth with gangly limbs and a broad smile. No one important, certainly no one important enough to speak to him like that. 'What?' he asked, sure he'd misheard.

 

'You've had your fun my friend,' the stranger said, lifting his foot from the target.

 

Who did this peasant think he was? Arthur walked over to him, totally amused at the prospect of what was to come, and asked, 'Do I know you?'

 

'I'm Merlin.'

*

 

Arthur blinked in the fresh morning light as his curtains were thrown open and that awful cry came yet again. 'Rise and shine!'

 

The Prince groaned and gave Merlin a glare, complaining, 'Can't you think of anything new to say?'

 

Merlin half-turned from opening the window and asked, 'What?'

 

Arthur collapsed back onto his soft pillows wishing he didn't have such an inept servant. 'Every morning it is the same thing,' he spelt out.

 

'I'm sorry,' said Merlin contritely, standing before him. 'How about: shake a leg. Up and at 'em.' He put his hands on his hips and his voice slowed to a crawl, 'Let's have you lazy daisy.' A moment passed where neither one could quite believe what Merlin had just said. 'No. You don't like any of them do you?'

 

Arthur just shook his head. Sometimes Merlin astounded him with his level of stupidity.

 

'Okay. I'm just gonna go before you-' Merlin started as Arthur sat up, his eyes and hand lighting on the goblet beside his bed. '-decide to do something-'

 

Arthur threw the cup with unerring accuracy at Merlin's head, but the infuriating boy just ducked, gave him a large grin and slipped out of the door. Arthur groaned and fell back on his bed.

*

 

The young king's eyes opened fractionally as he surfaced from dreams. The room was pitch dark and quiet. His mind settled easily and he dropped back into sleep, sprawled under the warm covers.

*

 

The familiar combination of courage and fear raced through Arthur as he picked up his sword. He had no idea how he was going to fight this dragon, but it had to be done. Turning, he suddenly stopped in his tracks. Merlin was standing opposite him, hefting his second best sword.

 

'What are you doing?' Arthur asked.

 

'I'm coming with you,' Merlin replied, barely glancing at him.

 

Arthur couldn't believe it. Yes, Merlin had come with him to face monsters and bandits before. Trailed after him on quests and rescue missions. But with was different; this was a dragon. And though Arthur didn't really want to admit it to himself he knew the truth. 'Merlin. The chances are I'm going to die.'

 

'Yeah, you probably would if I wasn't there,' Merlin said, flashing him a grin.

 

Arthur blinked. Even after all this time he still couldn't quite tell when Merlin was being serious. Though, honestly, Merlin saving his life. 'Right.'

 

Then Merlin shot him one of those looks that seemed to contain either a depth of knowledge and experience or absolutely nothing, and asked, 'Do you know how many times I've had to save your royal backside?'

 

Striving to keep a straight face - you couldn't really go off to face a dragon wearing a stupid grin - Arthur thanked whatever providence had brought him Merlin. He kept Arthur from taking things too seriously, even something as deadly serious as this. 'At least you've got your sense of humour back,' he acknowledged, clashing his sword against Merlin's as he walked off. To go to his death in a good humour was far better than the alternative.

 

Resolute, he reached the door and couldn't believe his eyes. Merlin was still there, standing by the door, sword in hand, face pale with that mixed expression.

 

'Are you really going to face this dragon with me?' Arthur asked quietly.

 

'I'm not going to sit here and watch,' Merlin scoffed, his words clearly hiding his fear.

 

He really was a loyal idiot, Arthur decided; loyal, brave, and really... There was something about him that didn't make sense. Merlin believed where Arthur didn't, felt things more, acted like a complete fool, and yet... He'd do something like this. Go with Arthur to face a dragon. And somewhere inside Arthur knew it wasn't about Camelot or bravery in the face of danger, it was about him - Arthur the man. Merlin counted him as a friend, and if that meant dying alongside him then so be it. What Arthur couldn't understand was why this Merlin - brave, loyal Merlin - was hidden so often by stupid, clumsy Merlin.

 

'I know it's hard for you to understand how I feel but-' Merlin began, and Arthur wondered if he was about to hear the real reason behind it all. 'Well, I care a hell of a lot about that armour. I'm not going to let you mess it up.'

 

And there they were, back to where they'd always been. Arthur laughed a little, not because he found it funny but because this is what Merlin did; look like he was going to say something profound and then say something totally idiotic.

 

He looked over at Merlin, meeting his eyes and nodding. Merlin nodded back, all seriousness now. They were going to face a dragon.

*

 

Arthur frowned in his sleep, his eyes moving rapidly behind their lids, disjointed phrases invading his dreams.

 

'It's alright, I'm not throwing you in jail.'

 

'Don't be such a girl Merlin.'

 

'Arthur, you're the true King of Camelot.'


	3. Chapter Three

** Chapter Three **

Arthur arose feeling disorientated and ill at ease. He wasn't normally one to pay attention to night-time meanderings, that was the province of women and bards. But there was something strangely compelling about last night's dreams. For one they had all featured the same gangly young man, a man that Arthur was sure he'd never met. And the other thing was that they hadn't felt like proper dreams.

Usually his dreams were disjointed, strange; pieces of his day thrown together and mixed as if his head was a stew pot. These had been linear, logical, his emotions had felt like his own. It was almost as if his dreams had been memories, but that was impossible; he'd never met that man before in his life.

A knock on the door heralded the approached of a page, one of many he'd had serving him in the last years. As the boy entered, laying out the tray of food and preparing his clothes, Arthur watched. These were the jobs that a manservant would do, except he'd never had one. Or rather he'd had too many.

After the sixth young man had refused to go back to working for him, his father had despaired and ordered that the many pages of Camelot see to his needs. So one frightened servant had turned into a never-ending stream of nervous faces, each one on doubt desperate not to be serving the ill-tempered Prince.

The page suddenly bowed and asked in a wavering voice, 'Will there be anything else, Sire?'

'No,' replied Arthur steadily, and the page fled.

Maybe that was the answer, Arthur thought as he prepared for the day; he had seen that man before - he'd been one of the many servants. That solved that dilemma, but as he moved through the castle the dreams still nagged at him, and by the time he'd shouted at the knights and snapped at his uncle Arthur knew he had to speak with this mysterious man.

*

Gaius was the court physician, and while his primary charges were members, nobles, of the court he also oversaw the health and well-being of the castle's many servants. So far as Arthur knew the man had never had an assistant. But in his dreams the dark-haired man had seemed to have a close association with Gaius. Which was why the normally hale Arthur was knocking politely on the physician's door before entering.

'Sire?' Gaius asked, surprised to see the young king. 'What can I do for you?'

'I-' Arthur began, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Now that he was here he felt like this was a really bad idea.

'Are you feeling alright Sire?' Gaius pressed, coming forward with a frown on his face.

'Fine,' Arthur said sharply. 'I was just-' He shook his head and turned to go. Chasing after phantoms was not a good use of his time.

'Are you sure nothing's the matter, sire?'

Arthur stopped, fidgeted, and then turned back with a sigh. He'd have to go through it now. 'Have you ever had an assistant Gaius?' he asked, trying to come at the problem sideways.

'Yes sire,' Gaius replied, an unidentifiable tightening appearing at the corner of he eyes.

'You have?' Arthur said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Gaius picked up a small pot and went back to mixing a strange concoction. 'A long time ago,' he said blankly.

'What did he look like?'

'Sire?' Gaius raised an eyebrow as he looked at the young man, and Arthur flushed just slightly.

'Please Gaius,' he said quietly.

The old man gave him an appraising look, and then said, 'Light brown hair, brown eyes...'

The list went on but Arthur wasn't listening. He'd stopped at the light brown hair. The man in his dreams had dark hair, almost black.

'Arthur?'

His own name being called dragged him out of glazed-eyed recollection and he stifled a wince. This shouldn't be consuming him like this. It was one night's dreams and nothing more. He straightened, nodded at Gaius and said regally, 'If there's anything you need Gaius, please let me know.'

Gaius watched him leave with a frown on his face. Ever since his father had become ill Arthur had been put under growing pressure, something that had only increased when he became king. He only hoped that the pressure had not become too much for the boy.

 

Arthur hurried back along the corridors to the council chambers feeling annoyed with himself. He was the king, he had to be the statesman, doing what was best for his people. Being just and strong, making sure that the law was kept, those were things he had to do now; as his father had tried to instil in him. No more of this wandering around after dreams and - Gwen!

She'd come out of a room, linen in hand, and Arthur's mind, easily distracted, had leapt at the possibilities she presented. Guinevere was a servant, much to his chagrin, but that meant that she knew other servants, other servants like his mysterious dream guy.

Completely forgoing his determination to ignore his dreams, Arthur caught up with Gwen and treated her to one of his best smiles.

'Yes sire?' she said in a cold tone.

Arthur winced, he hadn't been very nice to her the last time they'd met. In truth he couldn't remember exactly what he'd said but it had ended with her leaving the room in a hurry, tears in her eyes. Not the best footing from which to start really.

'Ah, Gwen. I, er, wanted to, um, apologise. For what I said,' he muttered. There. Not the best apology in the world, but surely he'd get points for trying. King's weren't supposed to apologise to their subjects anyway.

Gwen blushed prettily, but her stony expression didn't shift. She raised her chin slightly and asked in a perfect tone, 'Was there something you wanted sire?'

Arthur looked at her for a long moment, torn and confused. He really liked Gwen but not only was she a servant, he kept ruining any possibility of something between them. His inconvenient temper kept bursting out at inappropriate moments; if only he had some sort of valve to let it out in bits rather than all in one go.

He wasn't likely to fix the problem with Gwen soon though, so he sighed and said, 'I'm looking for a particular servant. Dark hair, thin, same height as myself, clumsy.'

Gwen bit her lip, her eyes going distant as she thought through the castle's regiment of helpers. 'I don't think I know anyone like that, well obviously I don't know know him. I mean, I wouldn't, and I'm not suggesting that you think that I - I didn't mean - It's not a very good description to go on, there are a lot of men like that, not that I'm saying that you give bad descriptions just that a name would be more useful that's all, though of course you wouldn't be asking if-'

'Merlin. His name is Merlin,' Arthur said quietly, cutting through Gwen's monologue.

'Oh! Merlin?' Gwen frowned then shook her head saying, 'No. There's never been anyone here with that name. Sorry sire.' For a moment she looked contrite before she remembered she was annoyed with Arthur. She shifted the linen in her arms and went to ask if there was anything else.

'Thank you Gwen,' Arthur said in the same quiet tone, gave her a genuine smile and walked off.

Gwen watched him go; he always seemed to leave her slightly off balance, but this time she would admit to being completely confused. King Arthur didn't ask about servants. King Arthur didn't care about servants. Yet there he was, displaying the quality that appeared only occasionally, the quality which attracted Gwen. She only hoped that this mysterious Merlin would bring it out more often.

*

The sun was turning the sky a virulent red when Arthur finally escaped his noblesse oblige for the day. He stood staring out of the open window, arms folded, back against the wall. The liturgy of a king's day had done nothing for the nagging sensation with which he had awoken. The image of that man - Merlin - kept floating across his mind, smiling and serious, wise and clumsy. He was an enigma, both open and honest yet having a depth that seemed to go beyond Arthur's little world. Arthur had asked around, both in the castle and the lower town, but Gwen had been right; there was no Merlin in Camelot.

The dark line of the trees beyond the castle drew Arthur's eye as the sun continued his slow descent from the burning sky. Waving branches and calling birds, along with the failing light, gave the forest an air of mystery that Arthur knew was false. Yet it still drew him. Perhaps he would ride out to the hunt tomorrow, the exercise would stretch his limbs and clear his mind.

Arthur was about to turn away when the muted light caught on something white near the border where the trees began. He pushed the window wider and leant out, pushing his eyesight as he tried to identify the apparition. It looked vaguely horse shaped, and as it moved Arthur decided that was exactly what it was: a white horse. Not very common in these lands but not improbable. He pulled the window closed and turned away.

He'd doused all but one candle and was ready for slumber when he glanced out the window again. It was still there. Arthur blinked, pushed the candle far enough away so that his eye wouldn't be drawn by it, and opened the window again. Shifting back and forth at the treeline was that white horse; and it was glowing. Of course it was glowing, Arthur reasoned, how else could he see it on this moonless night?

Groaning just slightly, he pulled back on some reasonable clothes, grabbed a cloak and trotted out of his room and up one of the towers.

'Sire?' Elyan asked as he emerged from the dark stairwell.

'Elyan. Checking on the patrols?' Arthur asked, feeling momentarily stymied.

'Yes sire.'

'Very good,' Arthur said and walked past the knight to the battlements. From here he could see the forest more clearly, make sure he wasn't seeing things.

'Can I help you sire?' Elyan persisted, wandering after the errant king.

'No, no, it's fine,' Arthur said distractedly as he thought ill words to himself. That prancing white horse was still there, defiantly not turning out to be a trick of the glass in his window.

Resting both hands on the cold stone Arthur alternated between glaring at the lower town and at the glowing horse. He hated inexplicable phenomena, they usually turned out to be magic. Which meant patrols and search parties and more 'protecting of the realm'. Life had been so much easier when all he had to think about was training and armour.

Elyan, wishing he hadn't pulled the short straw from Percival's hand, followed Arthur's eyeline to the trees and frowned. 'Are you looking for something in particular sire?' he asked.

'What?' Arthur snapped, pulled from his thoughts. He frowned at Elyan's frown and pointed at the glowing beast. 'I'm looking at the great white horse,' he said, inordinately tempted to call the man a fool.

'What horse, sire?'

Fools and idiots. He was surrounded by fools and idiots. It was no wonder Arthur's fuse was on the short side when he had this to contend with. He took a step back behind Elyan and pointed along the side of his head. 'There,' he said in an aggravated tone, 'That white horse, glowing, prancing. You see it now?'

Elyan closed his eyes and really hoped he wasn't going to get shouted at or walloped. 'There's nothing there sire,' he said gently.

'Nothing-' Arthur cut himself off sharply and took a couple of useless deep breaths before he ground out, 'Go.'

'Yes sire,' Sir Elyan said hastily and quick marched away from the king and around the corner of the tower out of sight.

Arthur stared fiercely out at the horse, arms crossed, teeth grinding. Weird dreams and glowing horses; he'd had enough of this. Without thinking, Arthur pulled the hood of his cloak up, wheeled around and charged down the stairs.

 

Out by the forest it was very dark, the only sounds the crunch of Arthur's footsteps and the occasional drip of water falling from leaves soaked by the afternoon's rainstorm. Arthur made his way confidently along paths he knew well, the flickering light of his torch sending shadows chasing round him. As he neared the spot where he'd seen the annoying animal Arthur paused. A large part of his mind was questioning his actions; out here, alone, with no real goal other than revealing a fantasy to be just that. It was madness.

There were hoofprints in the soft ground under a large beech tree, about the size of a medium horse. Arthur stood up and looked around, waving the torch to see which way the mare had gone. A second light caught his eye and he turned quickly. There, moving deeper under the trees, was the white horse. The white horse with a distinctly pointy thing coming out of its head.

'Unicorn,' he breathed, and padded softly after it. Arthur remembered the last time he had seen the magical creature - and the devastation that had followed. Although, he couldn't quite recall how it had been solved, something about a goblet and a maze.

The gentle beast led Arthur deeper into the forest, his adrenaline keeping his eyes wide and tiredness at bay. No matter how fast or slow he moved the unicorn stayed the same distance from him, leading him on.

He was several hours from the castle when it vanished. Between one footfall and the next its glow stopped and Arthur was left alone. For the first time since seeing the unicorn he realised what a stupid idea this venture was. Frustrated, cold, and wishing he'd gone to bed like any normal person, Arthur cast his torch about. Whatever the damn thing had been doing in his forest it had clearly been leading him somewhere. At least he hoped it had been, because otherwise he really did look foolish.

Walking in a fairly regular circle, Arthur searched. Trees. More trees. A shrub. His footprints. There was nothing here. Muttering imprecation about unicorns he turned to go and almost tripped over a tree root. Scowling Arthur looked down and frowned: the tree root was remarkably white, white or pale pink, with brown blotches. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd say it was an arm, a very thin human arm. He swung the torch and pushed back some low hanging branches. The arm was connected to a body, and as Arthur knelt down to inspect it he gasped.

'Merlin!'


	4. Chapter Four

** Chapter Four **

Gaius wasn't completely used to being woken at all hours, but occasionally it happened, and when it did he tried his hardest not to be too put out. Usually someone was in dire need of his medical expertise, and you couldn't really be angry at a man with grievous wounds.

The young man who had just been brought into his chambers by the King of Camelot was certainly in need of his help. He had five very deep, long cuts on his chest, numerous scratches, and had lost a lot of blood. Really it was a miracle he was alive; if Arthur had found him an hour later there would have been very little Gaius could have done to save him.

As it was he heated a poultice of honey and agrimony, and threaded the finest sinew through his sharpest needle. He spared a glance for the pale-faced Arthur sitting on a stool before he turned to the task of stitching up his patient. It was odd that he'd insisted on staying, but then he had brought in the strange young man, no doubt he felt a responsibility to him.

Arthur watched with disquiet as the practised hands stitched flesh as though it were cloth. It was a gruesome sight for someone more used to causing wounds, and his eyes kept slipping to the young man's face. Certainly all the features from the mysterious man of his dreams were there - black hair, thin face, large ears. But Arthur was equally certain that he had never seen this man before. Hopefully, once he woke up, he could provide an answer. Preferably one in which magic did not feature.

*

When Merlin opened his eyes it was late afternoon. He lay silently for a while, staring up at a very familiar ceiling. Then he shifted slightly and realised he was in a fair amount of pain. A low groan escaped him and his fingers tentatively prodded his midriff.

'Ah, you're awake,' said an equally familiar voice, and Merlin's eyes flew over to the visage of Gaius. 'And in some pain no doubt. Here, drink this.'

Merlin swallowed the potent concoction without taking his teary eyes off a countenance he thought he'd never see again.

'There now. You'll be feeling back to normal in no time.' Gaius took the cup and sat down in a chair beside Merlin's bed. For a moment Merlin felt as though everything was normal again, that he was about to be upbraided for doing something foolish wherein he saved Arthur's life again. Then the moment was broken as Gaius asked, 'What's your name my boy?'

Merlin made a noise somewhere between laugh, choke, and sob, but managed to say, 'Merlin.'

'Well, Merlin, those are some very nasty wounds you have. How exactly did you come by them?'

Merlin stared blankly, wondering what he could possibly say. I was attacked by a ferocious monster while saving Arthur's life. How did I kill it? Oh, with magic. He hadn't planned for this; not just the lying injured in his old room bit, but the coming back to Camelot part. It would be impossible to explain how he knew his way around the place, how he knew the people, their foibles and natures. And it would be beyond painful to look into every pair of eyes and see no memory of the jokes, the laughs, the danger shared. No, he had not planned for this in the slightest.

So instead he fell back on the skills he'd used with Arthur to answer Gaius's question, blurting out the first half-formed answer that came to mind. 'A bear!'

'A bear?' Gaius queered, raising an eyebrow.

'A great big bear,' Merlin nodded, 'Came out of nowhere.'

'How did you escape?'

'I, er, played dead,' Merlin said, hoping that he was right and bears left you alone if you did play dead.

'In that case you are very lucky to be alive, Merlin.' Gaius smiled and patted the young man on the shoulder. 'Get some rest. I'll have some food brought up in a little while.'

'Thank you,' said Merlin, feeling the faint stirrings of hunger now that the pain was dulled.

Later that day Merlin had the one visitor he had really hoped to avoid. He had figured that he'd have to stay in Camelot for a couple of days while his wounds healed, and was in the process of hardening his heart to the prospect of seeing Gwen or the knights again. Then Arthur walked in and the bottom fell out of his plans. There was no way for him to deny the pain this meeting caused.

Arthur stood staring at him for a while, as if analysing every inch of him. Then he came and sat in the chair Gaius had used and said, 'Merlin.'

Merlin's heart leapt, hope flooding through him, explanations clamouring in his mind. They were two sides of the same coin, it was destiny, he'd been unconscious when the spell occurred. Merlin couldn't help it, he'd wished for this every moment of the last few months. And now-

'That is your name isn't it?' Arthur went on, oblivious to the destruction of hopes his words caused.

Merlin nodded weakly.

'And it was you in the forest.'

'What?' Merlin's head jerked up from examining his hands, eyes wide.

'In the forest, with the magical monster. It ran towards you,' Arthur said, using his you're-being-an-idiot voice.

And Merlin felt slightly ridiculous, because he had longed to hear that tone again. He was also mildly annoyed; of all the times for Arthur to spot him doing magic it had to be after he'd lost all memory of Merlin. Typical Arthur.

'That's how you got those wounds,' Arthur went on, gesturing at the man's bandaged midriff.

'Shh,' hissed Merlin, waving his hands and grunting as he leaned to see if Gaius was listening. Arthur threw him a questioning glance and Merlin explained, 'I told him it was a bear.'

'A bear?' Arthur said, 'Why?'

Merlin just gave him a look. He hadn't used it in some time, and it hurt to know that he still had to, that in some ways Arthur hadn't changed at all. It was, of course, his Arthur-you're-missing-the-obvious look. In this instance the warrior was missing the fact that Gaius was the Court Physician in Camelot and mentioning magical monsters would probably have got Merlin a one way trip to a nice damp dungeon.

'Oh,' said Arthur, scratching his head.

Merlin managed to smother a smile at the familiar gesture, the endearingly embarrassed expression, but he couldn't stop himself muttering, 'Prat.'

Arthur drew himself up and commanded, 'What did you call me? Did you just call me a prat?'

'Me? No. Would I dare to call the King of Camelot a prat?' Merlin shook his head firmly, his lips pressed tight to keep the laughter in.

Arthur glowered, annoyed by his confusion and the reality of Merlin. He wasn't supposed to exist; he'd spent an entire day establishing that he didn't exist. Yet there he sat, bandaged and calling Arthur a prat. It all felt familiar and entirely new. Arthur made to walk out the door, then remembered and asked absently, 'You didn't have anything to do with that thing did you?'

'No,' said Merlin solemnly.

'Right. I'm going to-' Arthur hesitated.

'-go do kingly things.' Merlin completed.

Arthur stared at him, searching for any sign of mockery. Finding none he grunted, nodded, and walked out.

Merlin collapsed slightly in his bed, tears springing to his eyes now that Arthur was gone. It had been so easy to fall back into the old behaviour patterns, to act like nothing had changed. Because in a way nothing had. Arthur was still Arthur, if a bit more short tempered and confused by all accounts - more like he'd been when Merlin had first met him. And Merlin was still Merlin; though he knew he'd changed somewhat from his time in the forest.

Maybe he could come back, be Arthur's manservant again, laugh with his friends, call Arthur names. Nothing had to change. Then Merlin remembered the look in Arthur's eyes when he'd first entered the room and the picture he was creating collapsed. Arthur hadn't recognised him, hadn't known any of what they'd been through together, didn't know what sort of man he was. Bitterly Merlin turned to face the wall and thought: Arthur didn't know what he was missing.

*

Sir Gwaine had found his horse (he'd removed it by means of a fist to the face from the gentleman who had procured it) and was now trotting back in the general direction of Camelot. He didn't know why he was going back, he was hardly suited for the life of a knight and had practically nothing tying him to the city. He supposed the friendship and camaraderie he had with his fellows who had also been knighted in Camelot's hour of need was a point in its favour. But then there was the bloke who'd knighted them. King, then Prince, Arthur had seemed like a decent sort back when he'd needed them. But as time had gone on he'd revealed a far more short-tempered and arrogant side; Arthur was now as Gwaine had always known nobles to be.

All of which made his horse's direction a little curious. Yet there was at Camelot a very nice young lady by the name of Guinevere, and a very nice alehouse by the name of The Rising Sun. And Gwaine didn't want to disappoint either by vanishing without a trace.

He was passing through the thick woods of Camelot, and just wondering about stopping for a short nap, when he heard the cries. His ears immediately pricked up and he slid off his horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree. Loosening his sword in its scabbard he assumed the sneaking posture and moved towards the fearful sounds.

Crouched behind a cheerfully flowering shrub Sir Gwaine observed as a woman in flowing robes wove withies into a shape resembling a head. She had already completed a pair of arms and legs and a torso, inside which, Gwaine blanched, were three small children. It was they who were making the sounds which Gwaine had heard, crying as they were.

Very slowly Gwaine pulled his sword out, making sure not to make a sound. There was only one time that a knight could attack a woman and that was in defence of children. And somehow Gwaine didn't believe that this was a mother out playing with her beloved sons and daughter.

In one smooth motion he stood up and stepped out from cover. Pointing his weapon directly at her Gwaine commanded, 'Stop what you're doing and identify yourself.'

Glancing up the woman all but ignored the knight, her hands continuing their task as she spoke. 'I am a Priestess of the Old Religion and you will not stop the ancient rites, Sir Knight.'

'If your ancient rite involves harming little kiddies then I'm going to have to,' stated Gwaine, moving in.

Now the Priestess stood and faced him, hands loose and back straight. Absently Gwaine noted she wasn't half bad looking, but that was immediately dispelled as she said, 'Begone or face my wrath.'

'Who actually says that?' Gwaine muttered, before telling her, 'Not going to happen.'

'How do you think you shall stop me? I who brought Camelot to its knees, who took the very heart of you all and turned your minds inside out.' The Priestess stood tall and crowed, 'I who stole the memories of Emrys!'

'Who?' Gwaine said, swinging his sword in an arc.

The Priestess smirked, raised her hand and lit the canopied space with a great wall of fire that threw the Knight back. The crackling, burning mass stood seven feet tall, and as Gwaine righted himself up his eyes widened. Clearly there was a great deal in her claim that she wouldn't be stopped.

But though she was a Priestess of the Old Religion he was a good man, and a knight; he would not leave children in harm's way. Gwaine squared his shoulders, took firm hold on his sword and, with a cry, leapt through the wall of fire.

As he emerged on the other side he swung his sword at the unprotected back of the woman, but she had magic on her side. Once again he was thrown from her to go crashing into a tree. Shaking the ringing from his ears, Gwaine stood to see that though the wall of fire had vanished, in its place spat a three-headed snake like beast with venomous fangs and a great slimy body. A forest hydra.

If he had been a lesser man Gwaine would have gulped, as it was he ducked and rolled as a head shot out towards him. He swung his sword wildly and caught it on the side of one of its sinuous necks. The head hissed, spraying venomous spittle over the forest floor. Gwaine danced out of the way, wished he had a shield, then attacked.

He slashed and hacked, doing great damage to the forest hydra, yet the creature didn't slow down or even seem to notice its numerous wounds. As Gwaine charged in again, the sounds of the children's cries in his ears, he began to wonder what he had taken on. He brought his sword down heavily on the left neck, biting deep before the hydra twisted and he was sent backwards. Gwaine paused for a moment, sunshine breaking through the autumning canopy, and that was when he noticed it.

The sun was slanting down, turning muted leaves to dancing colours. Beneath his feet, ever the mimic, lay his shadow. Under the caged children a half-formed man, belly full, wavered darkly. In the centre the hydra hissed thrice, big, green, and vicious. Below it lay... leaves shining in the light. The creature had no shadow.

Gwaine had come across this phenomenon before.

In the years prior to meeting Arthur he had wandered across the five kingdoms and seen many things. In a marketplace far to the east there had been a man with a curious snake who had apparently responded to the sound of a flute. Bets had been placed until one man had pointed out the snake had no skotos - no shadow. Pandemonium had erupted and the serpent revealed to be an illusion conjured by magic.

If this hydra was the same then it was just a matter of mindset, of believing that it was an illusion. Closing his eyes for a fraction of a second Gwaine steadied himself and focused. Then he lowered his sword and walked forwards. The hydra snapped around him but he paid it no mind. Its fangs were within a hair's breadth of him and then -

The tiny clearing was quiet, the three children looking on with wide, amazed eyes. The Priestess snarled, an expression which soured her natural beauty; and Gwaine blinked. His determination of thought had belief in the truth had vanquished the hydra; gone as if it had never been.

'Give up lady,' he said quietly, slowly raising his sword.

'Never!' she hissed, fireball springing from her hands.

Hurriedly Gwaine ducked and went to cut into her midriff. But when his sword got within an inch of the priestess it stopped, as if it had hit something impermeable. He tried again, this time aiming for her head, but with the same result. She had conjured some form of shield. Gwaine wasn't one to give up easily, however. Even the best made shields had a weak point, and if there was one here he would find it.

All the while, as the Knight of Camelot attacked, his foe was hurling fireballs at him. The thought once crossed his mind that these, like the hydra, might not be real. A thought which was quickly extinguished by the heat and pain as one hit him square in the shoulder. Behind him Gwaine could hear the screams of the children and they spurred him on. His sword moved faster, seeking a way to end the battle.

The Priestess, finally bored of throwing fireball, suddenly drew a dagger from somewhere within her robes and stabbed out. Gwaine twisted, avoiding the glistening blade. As he did so he saw why the children were screaming so. Intent on the fight Gwaine hadn't bothered about where the fireballs he avoided were going. Perhaps if he had done the children's wicker cage would not now be aflame.

Unfortunately the Priestess wasn't about to let him set the victims of her rite free, and Gwaine was quickly forced back into defending himself. But though many would view Gwaine as nothing more than a rough tough guy who succeeded best at out-drinking anyone, he did have a brain. Slowly he retreated from the gleeful Priestess's onslaught, seeming to unwillingly give ground. Then, when he was within a sword's blow of the smoky, burning cage, he turned and with one swing sliced straight through the burning wicker.

The Priestess gave a great cry and threw herself at him, scratching and clawing, and managing to inflict a few deep wounds with her dagger. Unused to mad women launching themselves at him when he was sober, Gwaine struggled to dislodge her. When he finally did they were both gasping for breath.

Before the furious Priestess had time to collect herself she gave out an unladylike yelp and clutched her ankle. Something blue shimmered about her body and Gwaine lost no time. With a firm grip on his sword he struck, running her through with one clean strike. She collapsed, dead, as he removed his blade, and then things got a little confusing.

Afterwards Gwaine said it was like someone had put his head through a meat mincer, taken the remnants and stuffed it full of sparks from a forge. When he was able to see straight again the three children, slightly singed, were standing over him, with a very smug look on the girl's face.

'Are you alright?' asked the eldest of the boys.

'I-' started Gwaine, then he stopped.

What had he been thinking? Running out of Camelot like that, barely telling anyone. He knew that Arthur had been more of a pain than usual but it wasn't like him to abandon his friends. And now this - Gwaine sat up and looked around the space. There was a burnt line among the dead leaves, scuffles everywhere, a still burning wicker construction, and a very dead woman. It was a good thing he was confident otherwise this could have been a disaster. Of course Merlin would call it knightly stupidity, and then go on to comment that being a knight meant you had to be stupid when it came to dangerous situations. Normal people ran away.

'I'm fine,' Gwaine said, standing from where he'd fallen.

'Did you see what I did?' questioned the smug young girl.

'What did you do?' Gwaine asked, cleaning his sword before putting it away.

'I kicked her in the ankle, silly,' the girl pouted, 'I saved your life.'

'That you did,' Gwaine said absently, trying to get his bearing back to his horse. 'Now let's get you home.'


	5. Chapter Five

** Chapter Five **

There was some debate in Camelot during later days whether it was the loudest the word had ever been heard. There were a great many incidents to compare, and some held out for the time when...you know, and others for just after that thing with the whatsit. No matter to claims and counter-claims all agreed it was definitely in the top five. Gaius steadfastly maintained that if it wasn't the loudest it was certainly the most grievous. And he should know. He was there.

'MERLIN!'

'My lord?' said Merlin, stumbling out of his room and into the physician's chambers proper.

Standing in the middle of the room looking more furious than the young warlock had ever seen him was Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. Behind him the door was swinging on its hinges and Gaius was off to one side rubbing his ears.

Arthur pointed at the scruffy, injured Merlin, and asked, 'Where have you been for the past three months?'

'What?' said Merlin reflexively, casting a glance at Gaius. The old physician raised an eyebrow, and gave him a look which seemed to say that he'd like the answer to that as well.

'God, Merlin, I knew you were stupid but really it's a simple question. Where were you? And don't say the tavern because someone would have noticed,' Arthur growled, looking like he'd be happy to run Merlin through for his incompetence, but only after he got his answer.

Normally Merlin would have replied with an eloquent 'er', but his mind was still stuck on the first half of Arthur's rant. 'I knew you were stupid' 'I KNEW'. He remembered! The great hulking prat actually remembered him. A huge smile broke out on Merlin's face; never had be been happier. He could almost hug Arthur. Arthur, who was standing there looking like he thought Merlin had gone mad.

Immediately Merlin dropped the smile (though it wasn't easy) and assumed an indignant expression. 'You know where I've been,' he said in an agrieved tone, 'You let me go.'

'Let you go where?' cried Arthur, throwing up his hands.

'Ealdor,' Merlin shook his head, 'To visit my mother.'

'You were in Ealdor for three months? You abandoned your job for three months to visit your mother?'

'I didn't-' Merlin cut off his exasperated outburst at Arthur's idea that he'd abandon him, and took a couple of steps forward, waving his finger at Arthur. 'You gave your permission for me to go and take care of my mother, and now you don't remember! As if I'd just go off like that without saying anything.'

'I don't remember giving-' Arthur began, dropping to a sullen mutter.

'Well you should. I asked for days before you said yes. And you haven't even asked me how I am. How my mother is. Whether I had a good trip...' Merlin trailed off, taking great internal pleasure at the look on Arthur's face. Torn somewhere between concern for his unknightly, unmanly behaviour, Arthur was clearly struggling with the fact that once again Merlin remembered something he didn't. Merlin could almost see the moment when Arthur have in to his manservant's better judgement and fell back on his stalwart favourites.

'Don't be such an idiot Merlin. You wouldn't be here if everyone wasn't alright,' he scoffed, and after a long look at his errant servant, as if making sure he was real, he went to leave.

Merlin's shoulders slumped in relief; once again he'd achieved the impossible. Now he had time to relax and be thankful that the Priestess's spell had broken. He was back, safe, in Camelot and Arthur, Gaius, everyone remembered him again. It was fantastic.

'Now that you are back,' Arthur said, half-turning in the doorway, 'You can polish my armour, clean my chambers, sharpen my sword, oh, and the dogs need running, the stables need cleaning, my left black boot is missing, and there's a funny smell in the council chambers.'

Fantastic, though Merlin, it was fantastic to be home.

*

Merlin had decided that Gaius's cooking had improved in the time he'd been away, because he was sure the stew had never been this tasty before. He and his mentor had finally got some time together as they sat down for dinner. Arthur had kept the young man busy all day despite his 'bear' inflicted wounds.

Slowly Gaius had dragged the story of Merlin's trip to the Isle of the Blessed, the Priestess's ultimatum, the Memory Problem, and the rest out of Merlin, though he was sure there were things he wasn't telling him.

Merlin was tucking into his third bowl of stew when Gaius fixed him with a concerned look and said, 'Merlin do you realise how lucky you were? That Priestess of the Old Religion could have killed you.'

'In a way she did, Gaius,' said Merlin, pausing in his inhalation of food, 'You've no idea what it was like to have no one remember me.'

'And you don't know how the spell was broken?'

'No clue,' Merlin shrugged. A part of him knew he ought to care, so that he'd be more prepared in future. The larger part was just glad it was all over and he could get back to normal life.

'It was a very strange spell,' mused Gaius, 'I wonder-'

Both men jumped as the door opened sharply and Gwaine came in with a wide encompassing smile for Merlin but a serious look in his eye.

'It's Arthur,' he said, and immediately Merlin shot up and raced out of the door, heedless of his own injury or of the spinning bowl he left behind.

'Inseparable those two,' Gwaine commented laughingly, 'Don't know what they'd do without each other.'

Gaius raised an eyebrow, thinking of all he'd been told, how thin Merlin was, how bad tempered Arthur had been, and finally said, 'Indeed.'

 

**The End**


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